Too Damn Rich (73 page)

"Fax came for you," Charley said.

Hannes walked over to his own desk and
uncurled the thermal paper. It was from his immediate superior.

The message was short and to the point:

24 Mar '95 18:55 INTERPOL PARIS PAGE 01

FACSIMILE MESSAGE

TO: Hannes Hockert, New York

FROM: Christophe Boutillier

Your letter requesting immediate reassignment was
received. The request is denied.

C. Boutillier

Hannes showed no expression. He took the fax
over to a filing cabinet and stuck it neatly in the appropriate
folder.

Charley was watching him. "Funny, ain't it?"
he said. "Seems we both tried to do the same thing on the same day.
And we both struck out."

Hannes did not speak.

"Looks like we're stuck with each other."

Hannes shrugged.

"Way I see it," Charley said
conversationally, taking another crisp bite out of his apple and
talking while he chewed, "we can do either of two things. One, we
can step outside and settle this like school kids. Or two, we can
be gentlemen about it. Which is it to be?"

Hannes looked at him. "Since we obviously
have no choice but to work together, we might as well behave like
adults."

"My thoughts exactly."

Hannes smiled slightly. "And may the better
man win."

"Good."

Charley swung his feet off the desk, tossed
the remainder of the apple across the room, heard the satisfying
clunk as it landed in the wastebasket, and got up.

"Now let's vamoose. Some Park Avenue princess
is raising holy hell. Someone apparently broke in and stole her van
Gogh. Might as well put her out of her misery."

Thechauffeur opened the door of the Bentley
and Karl-Heinz emerged first, turning to help Zandra out. Holding
onto his hand, she ducked out and stared at the building. "It
doesn't look like a clinic," she said softly.

"No," he agreed, "it doesn't."

She felt him take her by the hand. It was a
robust, Belle Epoque mansion built of gray limestone. More than
fifty feet wide and six stories high, it was sandwiched between two
tall apartment buildings in the East Seventies, right off Fifth
Avenue. Amazingly, it was set back behind a tall ornate
wrought-iron fence, and there was a small cobbled front yard lined
with topiaries.

No brass plaque identified its function as a
fertility clinic. Nor even as a doctor's office. Only the house
number, a gilded number 9, gleamed from within the wrought-iron
scrolls.

Karl-Heinz opened a small gate set into two
giant ones, and Zandra stepped inside and waited for him. Together,
they crossed the cobbles and climbed the imposing front steps. The
carved front door was polished, and flanked by massive coach
lamps.

"Ready?" he asked her softly.

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Ready,"
she said.

He pressed the doorbell.

A tall young woman with blonde hair pulled
back into a chignon opened the door. She wore a well-cut, salmon
wool suit and expertly applied makeup. "May I help you?"

Karl-Heinz took a card from his pocket and
handed it to her.

"Your Serene Highnesses," she said
respectfully, and opened the door wide. "We've been expecting you."
She smiled politely and gestured. "If you'll follow me,
please."

Inside, there was no evidence of a clinic,
either. The marble foyer was bare, with a grand staircase sweeping
up to the next floor. A huge Brussels tapestry hung on one wall,
and a large marble fragment of a Roman frieze, depicting an
imperial woman holding the hand of a small child, was mounted
against another.

"This way."

Heels clicking, the young woman led them to a
concealed jib door, which opened into a small mahogany elevator.
She waited for them to enter and followed them inside.

They rode up to the next floor, then walked
down a spacious paneled corridor. The woman opened one of the many
tall doors.

"If you'll be kind enough to wait in here,
doctor will be right with you."

"Thank you."

Zandra and Karl-Heinz went inside and the
door closed quietly behind them.

The hushed, lofty room looked as if it
belonged in one of the great houses of Paris. The walls were
boiserie, there was a fine Heriz palace carpet on the parquet, a
huge crystal chandelier overhead, and a fire crackling in the
marble fireplace. The furniture was genuine Louis XV, and a huge
ormolu-mounted bureau plat was angled across one corner.

Zandra took a seat in one of two plumply
upholstered bergeres in front of it.

Hands in his trouser pockets, Karl-Heinz
walked around, studying the paintings on the walls. The Mary
Cassatt depicted a mother and child, as did the Renoir, the Manet,
the Daumier, and the Gainsborough.

"Mein Gott!" He whistled softly. "These are
all genuine."

"His Serene Highness has a fine eye,"
commented a deep bass voice, and Karl-Heinz turned around.

Dr. Lawrence Rosenbaum was not Marcus Welby,
M.D. He did not wear the traditional white doctor's smock. Nor did
he look like your average family doctor. Dressed in a
custom-tailored suit from Huntsman and Sons, a Turnbull and Asser
shirt, Hermes tie, Cartier cufflinks, and Piaget watch, he could
have been taken for a high-powered lawyer, a merchant banker, or a
wealthy art collector.

He was six feet two inches tall with the
thin, elongated face of an El Greco saint. Salt-and-pepper hair
combed back from a slightly receding hairline, intelligent sable
eyes, and a pointy Vandyke beard. In his mid- fifties, he was
sleekly groomed and had a courtly, European air about him.

After they exchanged greetings, the doctor
went behind his bureau plat and sat in his chair while Karl-Heinz
took a seat in the empty bergere next to Zandra's.

"You seem to be doing quite well," Karl-Heinz
observed, glancing around.

The doctor smiled. "I hope you don't expect
any apologies."

"Of course not. Excellence deserves its
rewards. From what I was told, you are the best in your field."

Dr. Rosenbaum permitted himself a modest
little smile. "I have had some successes, yes. Babies are
priceless, you know. As for the paintings—" He motioned around with
a hand "—they are more than mere symbols of motherhood."

"Indeed ?"

The doctor nodded. "They were gifts, Your
Highness. From grateful childless couples I have managed to
help."

Karl-Heinz looked impressed. "Obviously, you
have an important clientele. Not to mention a very wealthy
one."

The doctor smiled faintly. "Discretion
precludes me from mentioning names, but word gets around. One
person talks to another, and that one to another. I do not
advertise, Your Highness. My patients are all personal referrals.
They come to me."

"As we have," Karl-Heinz said.

"Yes." The doctor held his gaze. "I take it
you are here because you wish to have children."

It was Zandra who replied. "That's right,"
she said quietly, and leaned forward. "May I speak frankly,
doctor?"

"By all means. Please do."

"I imagine that in your field you've probably
heard just about everything. I mean, you must get all sorts of
strange requests. Well, here's another. My husband needs an heir,
doctor. Oh, not just any heir, I'm afraid. A male heir."

"Hmmm. I see." Dr. Rosenbaum steepled his
fingers. "It is a matter of primogeniture?" he guessed.

"Exactly."

"Then we shall see what we can do," he said
reassuringly.

He slid open a drawer and took out two
folders and two gold pens.

"First, I shall require some in-depth
personal and medical information."

He slid a folder and pen toward each of
them.

"The forms inside," he said, "are
self-explanatory. Fill them out as completely and honestly as
possible. Also, do not write your names, address, or telephone
numbers anywhere. We do not use personal identities here, only
numbered codes. If you'll notice, yours are printed on the folders
and also on each form they contain."

Karl-Heinz nodded approvingly. "I see that
you were not exaggerating. You do run a most discreet
operation."

"Unfortunately," Dr. Rosenbaum sighed, "it
has become a necessity. Despite state-of-the-art security, doctors'
offices are broken into all the time. With clients such as mine, I
cannot risk having their confidentiality invaded."

"But surely, you must keep a master list
somewhere," Karl-Heinz said. "How else can you keep track of people
by numbers?"

The doctor smiled again. "It is all in here."
He tapped his head. "I have a remarkable memory when it comes to
numbers. Now, then. It should take you approximately half an hour
to complete the forms. I shall have returned by then."

He pushed his chair back and rose to his
feet.

"Sylvie will drop by to see whether or not
you would like some refreshment. Also, if you should need anything,
or have any questions, simply press this button to summon her. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I have another patient I must attend to."

As soon as he was gone, Zandra and Karl-Heinz
got busy, and they were just finishing up when, exactly thirty
minutes later, Dr. Rosenbaum returned with Sylvie, the blonde woman
who had let them in downstairs.

"Sylvie, please show His Serene Highness to
the library. I will see Her Serene Highness first."

Karl-Heinz squeezed Zandra's hand
encouragingly, got to his feet, and followed Sylvie out.

Dr. Rosenbaum took a seat behind the bureau
plat, opened Zandra's folder on the gilded and embossed leather
surface, and took a pair of gold- rimmed half glasses out of a
case. He looped the earpieces carefully over his ears.

"Now, let's see what we have here," he
murmured, flipping through Zandra's file and scanning the
information. "I notice you have only recently been married."

"Yes." Zandra twisted her engagement ring
with its giant pink diamond nervously around and around her
finger.

He looked up over his glasses at her. "Have
you tried to conceive yet?"

"My husband and I have made love, yes," she
said softly.

"I see." He picked up a pen and made a
notation. "And have you ever conceived before? With anyone
else?"

Zandra shook her head. "No."

"You put down that you've never undergone an
abortion."

"That is correct."

He tilted his head. "But you have taken the
Pill."

"Yes. Until two months ago. I stopped taking
it when my husband and I were engaged."

"Hmmm." Dr. Rosenbaum glanced over the tops
of his glasses again. "I see you have noted that your menstrual
cycle is very regular. Every twenty-eight days?"

"Absolutely. It's so regular you could
actually set your calendar by it."

He frowned and put down his pen and aligned
it precisely with the folder. "I don't want you to get
overexcited," he said, "but correct me if I'm wrong. According to
what you've written down, I do believe your cycle is twelve days
late."

"What?"

Zandra stared at him and frowned and began
counting backward. Suddenly her eyes went huge.

"My goodness," she exclaimed softly, "you are
right. Gosh. You don't really think—?"

He said, "Experience has taught me to think,
but never to assume. As you probably know, the peak times for a
woman to conceive are on the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth
days following the onset of menstruation."

Zandra nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes. I
know."

"Those, of course," he said, "are only the
most likely days, and it doesn't take into account that the human
body is constantly full of surprises. Pregnancy has been known to
occur anytime."

"But if you actually think there might be a
possibility—"

"As I said, Your Highness," he repeated
kindly, "I never assume. What I do suggest is that we give you a
blood serum test. Who knows?" He smiled. "You may not need my
services after all."

He pressed the buzzer on his desk. After a
few moments, Sylvie came in.

"Yes, doctor?"

"Show Her Highness down to the laboratory,
Sylvie, would you?"

He made a notation on a chart, then closed
Zandra's folder and handed it to the young woman.

"Have Queen run a blood serum test."

"Yes, doctor."

Zandra rose to her feet and looked at Dr.
Rosenbaum questioningly.

"We have our own laboratory on the premises,"
he explained. "It won't take long. After that, a gynecological
examination may, or may not, be in order." He smiled reassuringly.
"Now just relax. This is not the end of the world."

Oh, but it might be, Zandra thought. For
Heinzie it could very well be.

Unconsciously she touched her belly.

A girl. Oh, God. If I'm carrying a girl, then
what do we do?

She tried not to think about it.

Dr. Rosenbaum gestured for the uniformed
black nurse with the elaborate Cleopatra cornrows and beads to help
Zandra out of the stirrups of the examination table.

"Doctor?" Zandra said, clutching the pale
blue examination gown which fell forward as she sat up.

"Later," Dr. Rosenbaum said absently. "Queen
will help you get dressed, and Sylvie will bring you back
upstairs."

He snapped off his gloves and tossed them in
the red trash receptacle. And he was gone.

Zandra looked baffled. "Did I say something
wrong?" she asked Queen, who was bringing her her clothes on a
wooden hanger.

"Lord no, honey," Queen said warmly. "Doc's
just thinkin's all. Here, what d'you say I help you get
presentable?"

Fifteen minutes later, Zandra was shown back
upstairs to the salonlike office. Sylvie withdrew and closed the
door carefully.

Dr. Rosenbaum, glasses perched on the tip of
his nose, was behind the bureau plat scribbling into Zandra's
file.